Page 29 of Sidelined By Love

“She did not break my heart. She broke my arm.” As soon as the words come out, I know they’re not the witty defense I was hoping for. And I’ve only invited deeper cross-examination.

Before I can begin to backpedal, Zoe’s other eyebrow raises to match the first. “Your arm? Is that a euphemism I haven’t heard about?”

“No.” The word comes out more of a growl than I’d like. But it’s too late to change that. Whatever my afternoon with Zoe did to lift my spirits, I’m instantly back to the grump my niece thinks I am.

I’m really not a grumpy guy. I just don’t like being reminded of stupid mistakes. And everything about my relationship with Tawna was stupid. I let her chase me from the beginning, let her catch me instead of catching her. I let her get into my head and into my life. I let her throw me off my schedule and dictate what was important in my life.

I knew from the start that she wanted to be an NFL WAG with all the publicity that comes with the role. But the funny thing was, she didn’t really want a guy in the NFL. She wanted the status and the paychecks and the fancy purses. But she didn’t want the hard work and early mornings and long afternoons. She didn’t want weird travel schedules or off-season training calendars.

She wanted to sip champagne in luxury suites and let me dote on her. She wanted our names connected in headlines and a booming number of social media followers. She wanted all of my attention and all the wins. I couldn’t give her both.

Kenna leans in toward Zoe. “He broke his arm in a game.”

Zoe sits up straighter, the amusement on her face vanishing. “I remember that. It was the playoffs three years ago. You stayed in the pocket too long, and they sacked you. They snapped your wrist.”

“Ulna, actually,” I mumble. I don’t need a play-by-play to remember. I’ve got the surgery scar on my forearm so I don’t forget. A few wrist rotations also remind me that I’ve healed.

“That was about a girl? About—”

“Tawna,” Kenna fills in helpfully.

Thanks, kid.

Zoe nods slowly, her gaze not quite meeting mine as her eyes shift back and forth. She’s trying to fill in the story, one I’m not eager for her to know the details of.

“It ended badly,” I say. Because it did. “I got distracted. And that’s a dangerous thing for the guy holding the ball.”

And I swore I’d never do that again. Period. End of story.

Love. Marriage. Starting a family. Sure, I want those things. But not yet. Not until I retire. Not until I can focus on only that. Because if Tawna taught me anything, it’s that I’m not capable of doing both at the same time.

For now, I’m just going to play the best ball I can. And I’m going to ignore everything else.

Pushing my chair back from the table before anyone can ask a follow-up question or spill any more beans, I pick up my plate and head for the kitchen.

“Are we still going to watchThortonight?“ Kenna asks.

Chicken on a biscuit. I forgot about that. But breaking promises to the kid isn’t going to help win her over.

“Sure. I’ll get it cued up.”

“You should stay!”

I turn around to realize that she’s talking to Zoe, and no matter how many motions I make to tell her to cut it out, she keeps going.

“He promised we could watch the whole MCU while my mom is gone. You should watch them with us.”

The kid is either entirely oblivious or completely diabolical because she’s practically hanging off Zoe’s arm begging her.

“Have you met Chris Hemsworth?” Kenna continues. “In real life.”

Zoe nods slowly.

“And is he gorgeous? Like, as drop-dead as he is in his movies? I know he’s old, but my mom says he’s a perfect specimen.”

Zoe snorts, and I groan. Hemsworth probably has more than a decade on me, but he’s still in ridiculous shape. I hope to be that strong when I’m his age.

Doesn’t mean I want to sit on the couch between two girls ogling said specimen all evening.

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